


The Bonsai

by addict_with_a_pen



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bookshop, Post-Apocalypse, aziraphale - Freeform, crowley - Freeform, good omens - Freeform, houseplant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 06:05:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19806268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addict_with_a_pen/pseuds/addict_with_a_pen
Summary: Based on a post by @inbarfink on Tumblr!





	The Bonsai

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a post by @inbarfink on Tumblr!

“There you are, my dear,” said Aziraphale tenderly, as he placed his new houseplant down on a bookshelf near the window. It was a roughly 300-year-old bonsai he had purchased from a pleasant old Chinese man in St James’ Park. The man had given him instructions on how to care for it, and then a young boy had appeared with a rag in his hands. The old man had walked off with him, the boy saying irritably, “I washed your car, now will you _please_ teach me?”

Aziraphale had thought that a plant would help to brighten up the back room of his bookshop, and he had been correct. It made the place look more _homey,_ somehow. It was… what was the term they used nowadays? _Aesthetic._

He liked the way the little tree’s trunk twisted as if it were dancing, and how its dainty green leaves sprayed out like billowing silk banners flowing lazily among the branches.

“My, what a pretty little thing you are,” cooed Aziraphale, admiring the manner of the sunlight filtering down through each level of the bonsai’s petite limbs. The tree seemed to perk up proudly at the angel’s words. “Pretty tree, darling tree, such a _dainty_ little _thing…_ ” 

“Aw, come _on_ angel, you’ll never get it proper, coddling it li’ that,” said a voice so laid back you could put a carpet on it, interrupting Aziraphale’s flood of adoring fuss. 

Aziraphale turned to see Crowley casually leaning against a bookshelf, head tilted, arms folded, and one eyebrow cocked against the black shades he insisted on wearing constantly.

“Oh! Hello, Crowley, dear,” bubbled Aziraphale cheerily, more than happy to see the demon. “Wasn’t expecting you til this evening.” His radiant grin dimmed a little. “There’s nothing wrong, is there?” 

“Oh no, course not,” said Crowley quickly, appoaching the angel with that carefree saunter of his. Aziraphale relaxed, his smile returning, then stepped aside so as to allow the demon to have a look at the little tree. 

“Just got it this morning, isn’t it precious?” beamed the angel as Crowley inspected it with a critical eye.

“Mmm,” replied Crowley, taking off his glasses to squint suspiciously at the plant. The little tree bore the demon’s scrutinizing with its twisted spine held defiantly erect. It was no sapling, after all, and wasn’t about to be intimidated by some snake-eyed flash bastard with a face tattoo.

He sensed the tree’s boldness and sniffed, smirking gently. He’d put the smug little plant in its place, alright. 

“Say, angel, would you mind fixing some tea?” he asked Aziraphale, not taking his eyes off the bonsai. 

Aziraphale’s smile somehow widened even further. “I was _just_ thinking of doing that!” he said, and bustled off, completely oblivious to the unspoken hostility between demon and plant.

Once he was out of earshot, Crowley got down to business. “Right,” he hissed menacingly. “Let’s get something _straight._ That man there,” he gestured to Aziraphale in the front of the shop, who was going round collecting things to make tea with from various odd places around the shelves—an effort to appear as eccentric and disorganized as possible, “—he’s an _angel._ And not just _any_ angel, he’s _my_ angel.” Crowley stared the plant down, golden eyes glaring, daring it to make a snide comment.

It didn’t.

“And, in case you hadn’t _noticed,”_ snarled Crowley with his fanged teeth bared, pausing to allow his tongue to flicker pointedly between them, “I’m a _demon."_

 _Now I’ve seen it all,_ thought the bonsai dryly.

“Let me tell you what that means,” Crowley continued. “It means that you had better grow _absolutely perfectly_ for him, or…” Seemingly out of nowhere he produced an ominously empty flowerpot, still with a bit of dirt clinging to the inside, and shook it threateningly at the impassive little tree. It was entirely unbothered with the demon’s aggressive display of dominance.

 _How are you going to explain to your angel where his new houseplant went?_ challenged the bonsai with a smug little ruffle of its leaves.

Crowley smiled like a snake. “Accidents happen,” he growled, sweeping the plant up into his clawlike hands and showing it the dusty wooden floor below with a little devilish flourish. 

The bonsai was not impressed. _So do miracles._ It gave the botanical equivalent of a shrug.

 _Okay that does it, you little bugger,_ thought Crowley. He shoved his face up nice and close to the plant in his hands, so close that he could smell the living wood and moist dirt it resided in. It reminded him of Eden.

The plant, somehow, could also smell Crowley. He gave off a gentle odor of burning cedarwood, old leather, motor oil, and, faintly, that odd coppery, metallic scent left on one’s fingers after playing a steel-stringed guitar. The tree wondered vaguely if the demon played, and also how it could detect these scents, considering it was a tree. It decided not to question it.

“Look,” began Crowley coldly. “Aziraphale deserves the best plants in London, the _very_ best. I’m not about to let him settle for some scraggly _weed_ of a bonsai tree, _capiche_?” 

The tree said nothing. A demon must clearly love his angel very much, if he is prepared to heckle a houseplant for not being good enough at the job for said angel.

“I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” hissed Crowley as he set the plant back down on the bookshelf and tossed the bucket somewhere out of sight. “And if I see a _single. Wilted. Leaf._ I am going to make you wish you had _never_ been--”

“Crowley?” 

The demon froze, then turned slowly. Aziraphale had been standing behind him for Go--for who knew how long with the tea tray in his hands, as Crowley aggressively threatened and berated a bonsai tree. 

“...No?” 

_Crowley.exe has stopped working, click to reboot._

Crowley clicked frantically. 

Aziraphale stayed silent for a few moments, then said quietly, “My dear, that’s very sweet, but what the _fuck?”_

_A further error has occured, please contact your helpdesk._

Crowley contacted his helpdesk, with no luck. 

He stood in shocked silence, blushing at the angel’s profanity. He opened his mouth, made a few brief, odd sounds that may have been attempts at vocalization, then gave up. A bubble of pride swelled in his chest. 

Aziraphale didn’t seem to realize what was wrong until after he had reconsidered what had just transpired.

“Oh, dear me,” he said, blushing as well. “It just… slipped out, i suppose. My apologies, dear boy.”

Crowley finally got his voice back, and he broke into a massive grin. “No, no, it’s fine, angel! In fact--” he added, hastily taking Aziraphale’s arm and guiding him out into the front of the store and away from the plant, “--it’s _brilliant!”_

“Oh, well then,” said Aziraphale, a slightly abashed smile camping on his face. “Glad you approve, my dear.”

As the pair made their way to a sofa, Crowley still excitedly praising Aziraphale, the tree watched them contentedly. 

As far as the bonsai was concerned, there would be no issues with its growth. It wanted to see how the two of them would grow. It had seen many a love story, but never one between an angel and a demon.

How such a relationship might come about was quite ineffable to the bonsai, but then again, it was only a tree, after all. 

It ruffled its leaves and began to grow.

  
  



End file.
